


An unlikely hero

by Sarg



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Romance, Diary/Journal, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarg/pseuds/Sarg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aline Trevalyan is not the most likely and skilled inquisitor. Log entries from the inquisitor jornal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Conclave

Journey to the Conclave Day 1  
I was taught to always keep log of my journey, and to write down my impression of events. After all, memory was not something that could be fully trusted. Therefore I'm here again. This journal would not be a memoir by a teenage girl as I have almost reached the age of 27 now. And while I'm still not doing my duty of continuing the line of the House of Trevelyan by childbirth, which I'm certain would keep my dear brother joyful, as no one could threaten his son's position as heir for our family, this type of life of noble errands and reports suit me greatly. I was neither the best warrior nor the brightest student nor the most devout. So here I am on the road again. This time, it would be a witness to an event of situation that I don't even begin to understand. While we should have sympathy for the mage's plight, but to what extend? Terrorist acts of blowing up the Kirkwall Chantry was not the solution. I remembered seeing the Champion of Kirkwall and all of her bravado, making discourses of tolerance and so on, but to help one of her apostate friends to blow up the Chantry and mass murdering innocents, was inconceivable motion.  
But its enough for the day.  
________________________________________  
Journey to the Conclave Day 5  
I so hate sea trip, I despise boats, and so does Prettycurlytail. Yes, I know it's an idiot name for a war stallion and everyone are so fond of remind me this, but how could he have a different name? It was because of his beautiful appearance that I choose him, how could someone not love his curly tail and mane? Beautiful and natural, unlike those fancy Orlesian horses whose tails and main were curled by hot iron.  
WE ARE SUFFERING. I KNOW I ALREADY WROTE that, but boat stank and made me nauseous. If Prettycurlytails dies, I will never find another horse like him. I'm close to asking for the mages on board if some of them is a good enough healer and may look after her or at least giver her some poultice.  
________________________________________________________________  
Journey to the Conclave Day 8  
We've just arrived in Highever , thankfully, Lukas, one of the mages, was able to take care of Prettycurlytail. Lukas was a thin and nervous beardless man who reminded me of a bureaucrat cleric than a mage. I offered to pay him, but he refused me saying that if his action moved my heart into a friendlier position toward mages, it was enough payment for him.  
I really admire Fergus Cousland. He is a man to be admire. He reconstructed The Cousland castle, the village and everything near Highever meticulously. There is no doubt that the hero of Ferelden is from the same bloodline that he is. It is ashamed that we couldn't stay longer here, but it is also for the best, as I am developing an unhealthy infatuation for the Teryn, who has recently remarried. Even though, the rumor was their union was merely for political purpose and security of his bloodline, it is healthier to step away of any daydream and complication. This made me wonder, why all handsome men have to be a complicated, problematic and et cetera? That is definitely the reason that I won't marry. I hate the angst. I want laughter, fun and light in my life. Marriage offers too many complication. It seems that I will remain single forever.

_________________________________________________________  
Journey to the Conclave Day 11  
I could definitively live in Fereldan. It's a beautiful land, even after the Blight. And the people here are strong and resourceful enough to reconstruct in such a short time. I adore the animals, as I love dogs and horses. I am thinking of bringing a Mabari home now. How scandalous would it be!  
We are camping near lake Calenhad before making our journey up to Haven. My travel has opened up more experience with the mages, and I grew less afraid of them, I even started to sympathize with their plight. But still they are not like other people and that's is a little disturbing at least for me. And reassuring uncle Jared that I wasn't going to be on the mage's love boat was one of the highlights of the trip. As if I didn't know that Uncle was always going on the mages' “working women” in those brothels that he often frequented.  
Talking to uncle Jared about our place in the family and our position in Ostwick was reassuring for me. No one beside him would understand that we didn't have anything denied from us, but our obligation lied elsewhere, not in home, not in our states, not in the Chantry and not even in our army, but lied in the fact that we could gather information, make connections and be free enough to be use in case of need. We were not as useless as everyone thought us to be or as lazy dead weights who were good for nothing except for spending our family's money. Those years in the diplomatic school in Orlais taught me not only the importance of the "Game" but also how much work I had ahead of me to avoid my land being poisoned by it.  
Here, camping by the Lake, I had one of the most honest conversation of my life with my Uncle. I think Fereldan ale was not a drink that my uncle should be drinking. Half of the stories I've heard from him were too embarrassing to even be said out loud, let alone repeated to another person. At least this reassured me that I could enjoy myself and no one back home would really care if I was discreet enough. After all nothing was really expected of me.

 

Conclave day 1  
We finally arrived at Haven, and for the first time in years I felt an aura of The Maker. I don’t know if it the mountains and the cold air or the surrounding that made me feel this way or if it was the pilgrims. Perhaps it was the chant of light being sung at all time. So our party that came from the Free March, banded together and decided to go to the Temple to make our pilgrimage. We're leaving our horses in Haven and would complete our trip to the Conclave by walking and praying. Hopefully this meeting would achieve some peace. However, I'm not very optimistic that peace seemed impossible between the mages and Templars who have long been engaging in violence and war.  
The mages have too much power literally in their hands to just go about Thedas unchecked; however, depriving them of freedom achieved nothing. If there is something that I learned from all this journey is that mages are people, and people who care and love and cry and shit.  
At the same time they are also people who can succumb to temptation and can destroy so much more than an ordinary person would. So what would be the solution? One thing I am certain, I don’t want to be in the position of Divine Justinia and the Chantry that have to deal with this situation. I am quite happy in my role as a listener and reporter for our state back home. Let them solve their own problem.


	2. first impressions

For all of not liking crazy and never even dreaming about the greatness crazy things bring. It happened with me. All the time since the walk to the temple of sacred ashes to the arriving at the Conclave I felt the goosebumps. Something was really wrong and something bad was going to happen. Even after listening all day to the bickering between mages and Templars as it was supposed to happen, even knowing that this was what was going to happen I got a bad felling about all of that. And I was right. Shit happened, and I don’t really know what or when or how. I just know that I woke up tight with a screaming seeker accusing me to kill Justinia. Why on earth I would kill Justinia, only if some crazy blood mage used me, cause I myself had no reason to do so. And to explain this to the crazy screaming women that didn’t even let me mourn, just drag me to the place of the destruction passing through accusing eyes as if I was some mass murderer.  
And when I think things can’t go any crazier , I start felling a scrutinizing pain in the glowing hand. Yeah now I have a green glowing hand as if nothing more could possible go wrong I had to walk back to the temple just to see that everyone there really died, and close a hole in the sky. Not even in my most wild dream or when I used to read about the heroes of old I would desire be one of them. And now here I am with the crazy glowing hand, my uncle dead, with no way possible to just get home drink my tea and wait for the world go shit. At least after the freaking vision no one who’s seen it think I killed the divine. I hate, REALLY HATE to be in the spot this way and this accusing eyes.  
_____________________________________________________________________  
Dear Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters.  
I am hereby writing to say that uncle is dead, and the Conclave failed, and for the most unlikely that this would sound I am the hope that the world will not end. I know that Joe’s is saying that now for sure we are doomed and I should stop the lying and the drama, and the so called Herald of Andraste that people are so much talking about saying that it is Aline Travelyan is the biggest and fattest lie people ever told. Sorry to disappoint brother, but is all true. I don’t know how or what happened but a woman made of golden light really got me out of the destroyed conclave and only I was left alive , but not unscarred, now I have a glowing green hand that closes holes in the skies from where fade monsters get out. There is nothing more to say than these and that in face of the dire situation that we find ourselves in, I have to stay here with the inquisition. And I would really appreciate that you show your support to us. We are not heretics aiming to destroy the Chantry. You know me, I never aimed to destroy or build anything. If any of you could come here bring some of my belongings and help me establish myself here for the time being would be good as well.  
Love  
Aline

______________________________________________________________

 

No more days, just thoughts spread on. I am not a warrior or a rogue or a mage, or anything heroically, if the Maker truly chosen me, he has a terrible sense of humor. I am not what they need, I am mostly a spoil child of a noble. Of course I learned how to fight basics, I am a marcher not Orlesian flower. Although I was never ever good at that. I was to lazy to go for the sword and shield and not fast enough with the daggers and not accurate enough with the bow to be of notice. My instructor back home would say that if I put some effort I could use some short blade or daggers, that I was gracious enough for that. I diplomat a businesswoman a planner all of that I could help the inquisition with, but as a herald travelling to erase evil from the world would not be my thing. Or thing that would be most suitable. And how can I tell them that? It’s just so oppressing. 

 

There are some interesting people in this inquisition. What could I write about them? Cassandra was a women that with the same heat that she accused me before, now she forgives me.  
Varric, the most famous Dwarf of the Marches was someone that I knew before, but he for certainty didn't know me, how he could know the one of the youngster insignificant Trevelyan from Ostwick ! He who always accompanied the mighty Hawke would never remember someone like I was before.  
The elven mage was an extremely odd fellow. All the talk about things that I have remember reading and not caring treating them as fairy tales or things so far that didn’t make any sense for me to know more about them. And when he talks about them with such passion just make me fell more and more out of place.  
Josephine, an antivan noble that seems to be so nice, that maybe will force my hand to spy on her. Cause I see no point of an elder and head of a noble house to be out in nowhere with heretics helping them with bureaucratic work. She doesn’t seem evil or vicious, but is strange anyway.  
Sister Leliana is a riddle, the Left hand of the divine, a companion to the Hero of Ferelden, and a spy master, She is probably reading this notes, and or searching all to info about me. She will be disappointed by finding out that nothing remarkable about me or my skills or my Faith. She will probably rethink the whole chosen by Andraste thing soon enough.  
And then there is the Comander, the ex- Knight Captain of Meredith. I remember him, from the times that I was in Kirkwall with uncle on business. He continues outstandingly handsome even without the Templar armor. And The Ferelden’s accent is all I imagined it would be. At the times that my uncle and I would go to the Gallows to buy supplies from the apothecary there, that was the best in the marches by the way, I found myself admiring the man. I even remember uncle’s teasing that opposite to the collective thinking about me that I loved dandies and parties and also polite educated men, I crave for an Warrior with callous hands. And here I am working with the handsome warrior, that I would admire from afar. The maker definitively is a evil and crazy bastard, cause I bet he must be laughing at the scene of putting a useless nobody in the middle of such amazing entourage.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one of a longer series of journal entries of my Fem Trevalyan, rogue, the woman with nothing odd until the oddness became her daily life. A journal of an average noble woman , that became the emissary of Ostwick and later the inquisitor.


End file.
